The Blood of Alexandria a-3

by Richard Blake

  I crept down to the outer limits of the camp. I crouched suddenly behind one of the larger rocks as two men wandered by. It wasn’t a big rock, and if they’d taken the trouble to look in the right direction, they might have seen me. But they were lost in some animated conversation. I listened hard, but could hear nothing I recognised. If only they’d been Lombards, or from some other race of Germanics, I could have tried jumping them. Armed, and with all the surprise of darkness, I could have killed one and pulled the other one over somewhere quiet for questioning at leisure. But these really were Egyptians of the lowest class. If those settled in Alexandria didn’t learn Greek, what reason had I to hope better of these? I let them go, and hurried forward to take more shelter from what looked and smelled like a low shithouse.

  Sure enough, a shithouse it was. There were more men inside, straining and gasping as they squatted low together on the ground. What they said in between made about as much sense as anything else I’d heard. I can’t have been above ten yards from the nearest of the brick buildings. If Martin was here at all, shut inside one of these places seemed his most likely whereabouts. Between me and the building, though, a fire was being lit. The lighter had his back to me, and wasn’t having the best of luck with his dried reeds. But he would get there in the end. If I didn’t hurry forward, I might as well dart back to the outer limits. Soon, the moment I stepped beyond the shadow of the shithouse, I’d be in full view.

  I looked left and right. No one was about or looking this way. The firelighter was still cursing away with his back turned. I took a risk and raced across to the building. In dark clothes, facing outwards, I pressed against a dark wall. If I now went left, I’d leave the firelighter far over on my right. There was no entrance on the wall where I was pressed. It might be on any of the other three. I might as well start by looking round the corner to my left.

  I was about to put my head round the corner to see if all was clear, when I heard more voices. They were loud, and they were coming my way. Another moment and they’d be level with me from round the corner. I looked back along the wall. It wasn’t far to get round the other corner. But the firelighter was getting up to turn, and he’d be less likely to see me still against the wall than running along it. Uncertain, I froze. I could see the approaching glare of torches. They made the corner of the building throw a diminishing shadow as the torchbearers came on ahead of the voices.

  With a shock, I suddenly realised that the voices were in Greek.

  ‘I must confess, Your Majesty,’ one of them was saying in good if accented Greek, ‘that I have been impressed by all you have shown me so far. I think I can accurately predict that my cousin will be highly pleased by the report I will make to him on my return to Ctesiphon.’

  The torchbearers came level with the corner. One of them stopped and turned and then stepped backwards. He now stood just in front of me and was looking forward. He had his left side to me. If I’d wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder, I’d not have needed to bend forward. If he so much as glanced left, he’d see me. At least this hid me from the firelighter, who’d now come forward to prostrate himself on the ground. All I had to do was not breathe or make any other movement. Given luck, he’d wait for the two speakers to catch up with him, and then move on. Without moving my head, I looked left at the two men, who’d now come into sight and also stopped.

  It was Lucas and the man who’d been speaking. I paid no attention to the second of these. He would normally have been uppermost in my thoughts: what was a kinsmen of the Persian King doing so deep within the Empire? But there was nothing remarkable about his appearance. He had the beard and slightly fussy dress of a rich Syrian, or perhaps an Armenian. Like every diplomat, he’d have passed anywhere without remark. My whole attention went to Lucas. He was now done up in the complete finery of the old kings of Egypt. As in Alexandria, he was wearing the crinkled linen robe. But he now had a false beard tied over his real one, and a headdress so elaborate it almost put to shame those I’d seen in the ancient reliefs. Indeed, the reason he and everyone else had stopped right next to me was that parts of the thing kept falling off at every turn of his head, and one of his flunkies was fully employed in keeping it in place.

  ‘My dear Siroes, you will surely not object if I ask when more substantial help will be forthcoming,’ he said. ‘If we are now to finish the work of clearing the Greeks out of Egypt, we shall need more than fine words. My letter did specify arms and military advisers.’

  ‘Your Majesty’s letter did specify these,’ the Persian Envoy said, now in the friendly tone used by diplomats who are about to say no. ‘However, Alexandria is the key to Egypt, and I deeply regret the failure of your uprising there. You told me yourself that your whole organisation there has been torn up by the roots.’

  ‘A purely temporary reverse,’ said Lucas. He stopped and swore as the big white crown right on top of his headdress pitched over into the dirt. He squatted down so it could be put back on. He raised his own hand to hold it in place as he stood again. His massive collar of gold and lapis lazuli glittered in the torchlight – not ten feet from where I was standing. I breathed softly in and tried to disappear into the wall.

  ‘One useful outcome of the rising, however,’ he continued, trying to keep his head absolutely level as he spoke, ‘was that the other leaders of my Brotherhood were caught up in the reprisals. I do not know if anyone escaped. If any did, it doesn’t alter the fact that I am now the supreme power in the Brotherhood.’

  ‘That is most useful, I agree,’ the Envoy said, still friendly. ‘You will appreciate, though, that now the rising has failed no invasion across the Red Sea can be considered. All effort, then, must be devoted to the march on Syria. Once we are in Antioch and the Empire is cut in half, we shall be better placed to open a second front in Egypt. I might also touch on the matter we have been discussing for much of today. Whether or not we arrive in Antioch within the year, there is very substantial assistance that you can provide.

  ‘And I can assure you that His Majesty is entirely of one mind with you as regards the future settlement of the world. We have no territorial demands that go beyond the core territories snatched from us by Alexander. This means the whole of Asia Minor, but no more than that. The Greeks may keep the territories they so ably defended from the invasion by Xerxes. Since it is their modern capital, they may even keep Constantinople – though whatever emperor it pleases Chosroes to place there will be required to swear fealty to him and to his successors for ever.

  ‘And Egypt will be absolutely free – on that you have my unforced word. It was a mistake of Cambyses to try incorporating Egypt the last time we were powerful in this region. Once we have succeeded in placing you on your rightful throne – in Memphis or perhaps in Alexandria – we shall, of course, withdraw all our advisers and such other persons as we may send for the purpose of your liberation.

  ‘Be assured, Your Majesty, we are determined that the age of universal empire is past. Darius and Alexander and Caesar are all dead. There will be no other. Our new order of things will be based on justice among peoples freely covenanting together.’

  I say I was trying not to breathe. After all this, it was hard not to gasp – or just burst out laughing. Here was someone talking, at the end of a thousand years, about repeating the work, while avoiding the mistakes, of Cambyses, Darius and Xerxes. And he was doing it in Greek to someone who should have thought himself a Greek, but was instead prancing about in stuff that could only have been snatched by Leontius in one of his tomb-raiding sprees.

  ‘Your words fall on my ears like music,’ Lucas said earnestly. ‘You will be aware of the treason of the National Church of Egypt, which has objected to my coronation in Memphis next month. If you could prolong your stay, it would be highly symbolic of the new order that we both ardently desire if you were the one to place the double crown formally upon my head.’

  ‘Oh, Your Majesty,’ the Envoy cried, ‘nothing would do me greater honour. And, of cours
e, I will prolong my stay with you. There is, after all – and do forgive my raising this yet again – the matter of the object that is part of the reason why the Great King sent me to you.’

  ‘Yes, the object,’ Lucas said with a hint of impatience. ‘You shall have your object. That I can promise. But we both know the prophecy. Until the One Who Shall Find can himself be found, we have a probem.’

  ‘That, Your Majesty, is most regrettable,’ Siroes drawled. ‘When I took ship from Jedda, I left seven hundred men behind me. There was no point in bringing them to Egypt. But they were sorely pressed by a tribe of Saracens Nicetas had bribed into hostility. I came here myself at great personal risk. It would be most helpful if I could have some indication of when I can at least set my hands on the object.’

  I’d put myself in the barrel. I’d pushed myself into the right current. It was now simply a matter of shutting my eyes as I was carried straight over the waterfall. I tried to look nonchalant as I stepped out of the shadow.

  ‘Hello again, Lucas!’ I said with a warm smile. ‘I see you’ve done rather well for yourself since our last meeting.

  ‘Oh dear, is that camel dung in which the double crown of Egypt has just landed?’

  Chapter 55

  There are meetings on which the books of etiquette give little advice. But I did my best in the circumstances. I stepped past Lucas, who was now kicking viciously at the man who’d failed to catch his crown in time, and held my hand out to the Persian Envoy.

  ‘Greetings, Siroes,’ I said as easily as I could. ‘I am Alaric, Legate Extraordinary from His Imperial Majesty in Constantinople. It may please you that the Imperial Council is aware of your name and your many achievements on behalf of the Great King.’

  One of the nice things about a beard for a diplomat is how it can help in moments of utter confusion. But Siroes was good. His eyes barely widened as he looked back. He smiled and took my hand.

  ‘And greetings to you, Alaric,’ he said. ‘We in Ctesiphon have heard much about you. Together with Priscus and Sergius, you are nearly at the top of our list of dignitaries to be handed over for execution when we dictate peace to the Empire. It may please you to know that if Priscus is before you on the list, you are before Sergius. It goes without saying that the usurper Heraclius comes right at the head of the list.’

  ‘Funny you should call him that,’ I said. We both ignored Lucas, whose crown was still covered in camel shit. ‘There’s no doubt Phocas was an usurper. He killed poor old Maurice and all his family, and then ruled as a tyrant. You might have had a case for not recognising him. Heraclius, on the other hand, was freely accepted by the Senate, the army and the people. He was crowned by the Patriarch of Constantinople; and he has the full endorsement of the Universal Bishop, His Holiness in Rome. It can be argued whether the constitution requires an emperor to have the Church on his side. There’s no doubt, however, that the opinion of some foreign prince is of no account whatever.

  ‘You are, by the way, on one of our lists. Only we aren’t thinking of your execution. We’ll need a candidate for the Persian throne once Chosroes has been put out of the way.’

  Siroes touched his knuckles to his head in a gesture of respect. Lucas opened his mouth to say something, but one of those big men he’d had with him on our first trip through the desert came in sight. He took one look at me and screamed like a stricken bull. Straight down on his knees he went, crossing himself and babbling away in Egyptian. Whatever he was saying was taken up by a few others who’d been following Lucas and Siroes. As it spread to the low-grade Egyptians, Lucas had to start a screamed lecture of his own. He wheeled about, hitting out with his rod of Kingly Office and kicking anyone within reach. His crown was off again, and his wig was slipping down the back of his head. I looked at him and did my best not to laugh at the crudely applied make-up on his face. He was supposed to look majestic. The best his people had managed was to make him remind me of the Circus buffoons in Constantinople.

  ‘You join us at a most opportune moment,’ Siroes said, speaking loud above the incomprehensible shouts and squeals of the debate in progress. I think he also was trying not to laugh at Lucas. ‘There is immediate business of which you may be aware. If you serve me well enough in that, I may see fit to put in a word for you with the Great King. You see, our Christian minority speaks well of you for the tolerance of their heresy you have urged within the Empire. We might spare you as a token of our mercy in victory.’

  ‘Your goodness of heart robs me of normal speech,’ I said.

  Siroes touched his forehead again. He even smiled. It was now that Lucas, who’d restored a sullen order among his men, butted in with a gloating and self-important speech about my function as finder of the piss pot of Jesus Christ. It seemed this really had been on the agenda the last time I was taken. This time, he said, I’d be under closer watch.

  ‘No one will save you now,’ he said. ‘Not the Greeks in Alexandria, nor, I think, the sorceress whose concern for your safety has surely not outlived her better acquaintance with you.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ I said. I paused and waited while the whole headdress was stabilised again. ‘However, I do represent His Majesty the Emperor, and I think that entitles me to supper.’

  We set out from the camp just after dawn, and were soon headed south-east along a rough trail through this borderland of the desert. There was no camel for me now. Instead, I was tied into the chair that I supposed had been made available to the Persian Envoy. Muttering away in his own language, Siroes looked on.

  ‘With the deepest respect, Your Majesty,’ he said once Lucas had come over, ‘I do suggest that, as a person of quality, His Magnificence should not be bound – not, at least, with common rope.’

  ‘You will understand, my dear Lucas,’ I added, ‘if I agree with the Lord Siroes. If you were the low bandit that I at first took you for, common rope would be appropriate. However, you are in rebellion – even if not with much success – against the Empire, and I do represent His Imperial Majesty. I would suggest golden fetters or nothing at all.’

  Siroes nodded gravely and seemed inclined to add another of his own protests. More to the point, some of the Brotherhood men who’d survived the rising in Alexandria were drifting over and looking mutinous again. Lucas swore softly and twisted with rage, but came forward and shouted for the procession to stop. He took out a knife and cut the ropes.

  ‘If you so much as move from this chair,’ he hissed into my face, ‘I will personally cut off your feet at the ankles.’

  ‘God’s tits!’ I gasped, pulling myself back from the filthy gust of his breath. ‘I know your rules demand celibacy after you’ve produced two sons. If you won’t take a little guidance on oral hygiene, you’ll remain celibate before then as well.’

  Lucas gave up trying to look majestic. ‘I will also tell you this,’ he continued, keeping his face close. ‘If you do somehow manage to escape again, I will lay hold of your secretary and personally stitch his testicles into his mouth. Don’t deny any interest in his fate. There is no other reason for your being here – and so many days before anyone would have thought it possible for you to get here from Alexandria.’

  ‘Is it true,’ I asked loudly, ‘that the old kings of Egypt used to strip off once a year and have a public wank into the Nile?’

  He stared at me a moment. He swallowed, plainly thinking of some response that would crush me. Then, with a scowl, he was off, shouting at everyone to get under way again.

  ‘Not like a horse, is it?’ I said brightly.

  Siroes stared down at me. He’d put off the fussy robes of the night before. Now, he was in the local riding costume. Like all Persians, he was probably an accomplished horseman. Camels, as I don’t need to keep saying, are not the same as horses.

  ‘The less time I spend seated on this beast,’ came the reply, ‘the happier I shall be. I am assured that, if all goes as planned, I shall require neither chair nor camel for my return.’

 
; I shifted position. The chair was big and comfortable. Even if the sun hadn’t yet acquired its full power, I was glad of the shade from the canopy overhead. I yawned and stretched my legs.

  ‘Oh, you expect me to dig out your piss pot,’ I said. ‘Do you suppose it will let you grow wings and fly back? If so, it must be ever so powerful.’

  Siroes gave me a sour look and twisted in his saddle.

  ‘Do tell me, though, Siroes,’ I said with a change of subject, ‘you really can’t be serious about leaving Egypt to the wogs. Whoever controls Egypt and its corn is in a position to control the world.’

  ‘We are perfectly determined,’ he said with a shade too much emphasis, ‘to reorder the world on a basis of equality between peoples.’

  ‘And you really mean to set up Lucas here as Pharaoh?’ I asked. I could hear him far off, close to the front of our procession. Something or someone had upset him, and he was screaming again like a steward over a broken vase.

  ‘Our mutual friend,’ he answered ‘- let us call him Lucas: it is less of a mouthful than the other name he has tried to teach me – is a man of just the qualities we need in a ruler of Egypt. However, let us discuss your own interesting position. When I spoke last night about your death, I think we should take that as a statement of possibility rather than of intention.

  ‘We are expecting to bring an end to the war between our two empires some time in the next six months. It will be an unconditional surrender on the Greek side. I am already considering how what remains of the Greek Empire is to be ruled. I could speak at great length of nothing very important. But I will avoid doing so and simply ask if you would like to be the next emperor? You would, I must clearly state, be an emperor under our complete protection. We would even station forces in Constantinople to ensure the safety of your reign.’